


Lest We Forget

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: Colonel Shepard, Australian Digger [6]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:05:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."</p><p>A chance encounter with others prompts Regan to recall those who died in the Reaper War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lest We Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. My muse has managed to squeeze out one more story for the Digger!verse based on the Australian ANZAC Day services, which feature both the Ode and the saying ‘Lest We Forget’. Trigger warning for discussion of implied cannibalism, depression and fantastic racism.

“Don’t eat it. It’s made of people.”

            Kaidan Alenko nearly choked on a mouthful of his organic free range varren steak as his wife-to-be, showing the same wicked gleam in her eye she’d displayed when biotically pantsing the Marine who would become one of Cerberus’ most feared assassins, quoted from an old vid and made the turian guest at the buffet spit out his dextro steak substitute. Then he kicked Regan under the table, receiving an unrepentant look in reply, and leaned over to smile sympathetically at the alien. “Don’t mind her. She likes to quote old vids at the most awkward of times.”

            “ _Soylent Green_?” the quarian, who was forced to turn what looked like a delicious array of foods into a bland medicinal-looking liquid before sucking it up through a straw, asked curiously.

            “I think so. Vintage sci-fi isn’t to my taste.” Regan kicked him in response, no doubt expressing her displeasure at his lack of taste in entertainment, and Kaidan smiled winningly at her.

            “You know, when the Migrant Fleet first encountered that vid, we thought it was historical,” the quarian continued, tone as bland as her dinner. “Possibly because until we got our first proper liveship, the Fleet was forced to recycle _everything._ And I do mean _everything_.”

            “Remind me not to eat the green food on a quarian ship,” Regan replied with a grin.

            “I wouldn’t eat _any_ food on a quarian ship if I were you,” the turian advised sourly. “Being levo and all…”

            “I would make the suggestion because most of it tastes like shit,” the quarian said cheerfully. “You have _no_ idea what retaking Rannoch meant for us.”

            “Getting your home back’s always a good thing,” Regan agreed, leaning back in the metal seat. Five years after the Reaper War and a relatively sedentary job, she had a layer of fat that softened her wiry form and a few laugh lines around her bright blue eyes to match the lines of pain around that wide, thin-lipped mouth. “How’s rebuilding going?”

            “Aside from the damage the Reaper did, most of the infrastructure was kept intact by the geth and so we were able to get it up and running fairly quickly,” the quarian replied. “We’re very good at improvising and making do.”

            Kaidan looked around the moderately expensive restaurant in Vancouver where the military brass of the Council liked to eat and saw a familiar bottle of cider on an asari’s table. “Hey, they stock our cider!” he announced excitedly, like a little boy who’s found an unexpected present under the Christmas tree.

            Regan looked over her shoulder and grinned. “The expensive one too.”

            “Sorry,” Kaidan apologised to the dextro-amino couple as he returned to his steak. “I run an apple orchard in the B.C. interior and we diversified into cider a couple years ago, so I tend to get a little bit excited when I see one of the bottles.”

            “If it’s made from apples around here, it came from the Alenko orchards,” Regan added proudly. Once she’d returned to working for the Alliance, she became a lot more cheerful about the orchard and its products, her lack of enthusiasm for the farming life something Kaidan used to miss because it was buried under the depression.

            “It’s fine,” the quarian said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Every victory in these times is to be celebrated and savoured.”

            “That’s one way of putting it,” Kaidan agreed with a smile. It sounded like something Sha’ira would say.

            “You look vaguely familiar,” the turian noted. “And not just because you both have a military bearing.”

            “We were in the London campaign,” Kaidan answered cagily.

            “So were we!” the quarian said excitedly. “Williams pulled off a hell of a victory.”

            “Only because the Alliance Commonwealth Division Forces cleared the way to the Crucible,” Kaidan pointed out before Regan could. He knew that people needed to place a face on victory and that face was Admiral Ashley Williams, granddaughter of a man believed to be a traitor to humanity when he surrendered at Shanxi and the first human Spectre, but it still galled him that heroes like Regan, Coates and Parata were all swept up under the ‘Alliance Military’ banner at the yearly VRW parades.

            “And Palaven Four covering the ACDF,” Regan added quietly, much to Kaidan’s surprise. Her casual racism, a regrettable feature of Australian culture that many of them were prone to, wasn’t as bad as it was but she still voted for pro-Earth independent candidates in the election.

            “Not many people remember Palaven Four under Commander Arturus,” the turian said sadly. “We were part of the same year in our military training and learning his entire command got wiped out during the last push was devastating.”

            “Oh, hell,” Regan breathed as Kaidan’s heart twisted. “I didn’t know that.”

            “I’m going to assume you two were in the ACDF?” the turian asked.

            “Yeah.” Regan sighed explosively. “Arturus walked in, attempted to take over my command and it went downhill from there, I’m sad to say. To know he died covering our arses… Well, I dunno how you turians do it, but I’ll lay a wreath for Palaven Four on ANZAC Day.”

            “The traditional day of remembrance for Australian and New Zealander military casualties,” Kaidan explained quietly. “Commander Arturus wasn’t familiar with how the ANZACs operated, because they still have ranks like Colonel, which is between Major and General.”

            “Arturus was a hell of a soldier but a complete ass into the bargain,” the turian responded regretfully.

            “Regan wasn’t much better during the war.” Kaidan hid the wince from the kick his wife gave him under the table at the unvarnished truth.

            The turian’s mandibles flapped. “Colonel Regan Shepard?”

            “Yes,” Regan admitted, fork toying with the leftovers of her spaghetti aglio e olio.

            “You have no idea how many problems you averted when you shot Urdnot Wreav,” the turian said fervently. “Urdnot Bakara and Urdnot Grunt took over with the krogan and, thank the spirits, they’ve got them on an even keel.”

            “Good to know,” Regan answered, a little taken aback by the gratitude in the turian’s voice.

            The alien extended a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself: Councillor Garrus Vakarian.”

            Regan shook the three-fingered hand briefly. “Colonel Regan Shepard. I run the Special Combat and Tactics programme at Anderson Barracks.”

            Kaidan was relieved she didn’t blurt out Galahrus or any other bird-related joke. He loved Regan, he really did, but tact wasn’t one of her strong points.

            “It’s a pleasure to meet an Australian who isn’t making cockatoo jokes,” Garrus said as he withdrew his hand. “They were sort of amusing at the beginning but now very unfunny.”

“I remember you now, Councillor. You were on Williams’ squad with the Prothean guy,” Regan said, displaying hitherto unknown powers of diplomacy.

            “Javik,” the turian confirmed. “I would like you to meet my wife Tali’Zorah vas Normandy.”

            “A pleasure,” the quarian said, shaking hands with Regan and Kaidan.

            “The handsome apple farmer is my partner Kaidan Alenko,” Regan introduced as Kaidan shook Garrus’ hand.

            “Arturus put in a commendation for you because of your interpersonal skills,” Garrus noted.

            “Damn,” Kaidan said, feeling really awful he’d never chased up on the fate of Palaven Four.

            “I’ll get in contact with your people about a joint service on ANZAC Day,” Regan promptly added. “Palaven Four deserves it.”

            “That’s a good idea,” Garrus agreed. “I’ll pass it onto Primarch Victus.”

            They fell into silence as Kaidan finished his steak. As silences went, it wasn’t too awkward, but he was still relieved when the dextro-amino couple stood up to pay. This might have been the budget part of the restaurant with its all you can eat buffet, but they still charged gourmet prices because everything was, if not grown in the ground like Kaidan’s apples, still organic as in actually coming from things that were vegetable or animal. The ration bars the Alliance used were about three steps away from organic, being created from vat-grown proteins spliced from the unholy offspring of soybeans and edible plastic. Probably. The alternative was worse.

            They made their farewells and left, Kaidan heaving a sigh of relief. That was the downside of eating at the only restaurant he and Regan could afford; tables were often so full that they shared with whoever showed up. This was _not_ the place to come for a romantic dinner.

            They lingered over a dessert of vanilla ice cream and fresh tropical fruit, Kaidan’s experienced tongue noting the flat sweetness of fake vanilla essence. At least the fruit was real.

            “I would have thought the Councillor would eat somewhere fancier,” Regan finally said as they rose to pay and leave.

            “Scuttlebutt is that Vakarian’s a fairly simple man with simple tastes – and not a lot of the higher-end places in Vancouver serve dextro cuisine,” Kaidan reminded her. “You handled yourself well there, by the way.”

            Regan shrugged. “I have turians in my face when I’m not yelling at wannabe N7s. You learn to bite your tongue a lot.”

            Kaidan leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

            She blushed a bit under her tan. Despite her loud, brash nature, Regan was somewhat uncomfortable with public displays of intimacy, a quirk that Kaidan found rather adorable.

            “So, how much time do you have off?” Kaidan asked with a slight smile. He had a hotel room and surely Regan wasn’t due back until-

            Her omnitool rang, the installed programme belting out Cold Chisel’s ‘When the War is Over’. Regan’s love of late 20th Century Australian pub rock was almost proverbial at the Anderson Barracks. She brought up the call and it turned out to be Commander James Vega.

            “What’s up?” Regan asked with a sigh.

            “Good to see you too,” the musclebound Marine retorted dryly.

            “I’m on leave until 06:00 tomorrow,” Regan told him. “So the barracks better be on fire.”

            “Hey Vega,” Kaidan greeted mildly.

            “Hey Lola, easy there,” Vega responded, holding up his hands. “Just letting you know that the Council’s going through names for Spectre and yours came up.”

            “Tell Admirals Hackett and Williams ‘No’,” Regan retorted. “I got enough on my hands with those wannabe N7s.”

            Vega looked surprised. “You’re happy to be parked on your ass in an administrative role?”

            “Uh, yes.” Regan’s tone was very much ‘No shit, Sherlock’.

            “Okay.” Vega said, shaking his head in bemusement. “Williams listens to me. Have fun on your conjugal visit, Lola.”

            He hung up, leaving Regan rolling her eyes heavenwards as she dismissed her omnitool.

            “Lola?” Kaidan asked.

            “Vega likes to give people nicknames. Apparently I’m hot and kind of crazy.” Regan shook her head. “What the hell is wrong with people? I’m in a good place now. I helped save Earth. Like hell I’m gonna go and save the galaxy. Let someone else do it.”

            “Hey, you’re still saving the galaxy,” Kaidan told her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re training the future Spectres. Did that ever occur to you?”

            “Of course it did.” Regan let him hug her, then pointedly headed towards the hotel where Kaidan stayed when he was in Vancouver. It was cheaper than buying an apartment, because Regan always commuted to the farm on her long leaves while he came in when she had a few hours off. He missed having her there all the time but the… maybe not happiness but a certain _relief_ on her face made it worthwhile.

            “I love you,” she said suddenly, eyeing him sideways as they walked.

            “I love you too.” Kaidan smiled at her and she returned the expression with her usual stiffness.

            Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Their happiness was a flower garden growing on the graves of those who didn’t make – Arturus, General Oates, Admiral Anderson and the billions of others who died throughout the galaxy. But from death came life and they would not be forgotten.

            Much to his surprise, Regan passed by the hotel and walked to Memorial Plaza, stopping on the way to buy some flowers. She climbed the stairs to the eternal memorial flame that burned there and laid the flowers down at the foot of the plinth with the names of those of the ACDF who died in the Reaper War endlessly scrolling on the holographic interface. Bringing up her omnitool, Regan connected to the extranet and then, much to Kaidan’s quiet pride, added the names of the turian Palaven Four company who shared their charge to take hell and hold it.

_“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._

_At the going down of the sun and in the morning_

_We will remember them.”_

            As she did for every casualty on ANZAC Day, Regan recited the Ode, the verse from Laurence Binyon’s ‘For the Fallen’ that was used in Australian military memorial remembrances. Kaidan only knew this because she was assiduous about it.

            “Lest we forget,” she finished with a salute to the memorial before turning away.

            _Lest we forget,_ Kaidan agreed silently. The dead were gone but they would not be forgotten.

            Never forgotten.

           


End file.
